


Somebody Wonderful

by withswords



Series: Serious Pleasures [2]
Category: Bright Young Things
Genre: Alcohol, Crossdressing, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Marriage, Mental Health Issues, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Vignette, alternative history
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2020-10-21 11:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20692721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withswords/pseuds/withswords
Summary: Snapshots of a life, from Oxford to France. As the future moves forward, the past only falls further away.





	1. The Sun Will Rise

**Author's Note:**

> So! I've never written a sequel or a prequel before, and I settled it by writing both. A series of vignettes about Adam and Miles, alternating between Oxford-era (roughly 1927-1929) and post-WWII (1937-1940s). I hope this is like, interesting and satisfying for people who were hoping for more of this!

Adam cracked his eyes open, despite the protest of a wailing headache, and the first thing he saw was Miles, asleep, a few inches away from his face. Filtered spring morning sun glowed on Miles’s cheeks and his eyelashes. He was spared the full glare by the covers pulled over both their heads. The air was hot and stale under there, though, and his mouth reeked of a morning after a severe entanglement with wine. He was fairly confident that this wasn’t his bed. Miles didn’t usually sleep in his bed at all, let alone fully dressed with their feet brushing through socks.

As he thought of Miles, the eyes in front of him fluttered open. Miles saw Adam, or at least it looked like he saw him. But they were very close, and if Adam was bad off then Miles necessarily must be worse. He closed his eyes, groaned, and attempted sloppily to push his face away. One of his fingers went into Adam’s mouth, and Adam batted it away.

“Don’t stare so, David.”

“Miles, what...?”

“Oh, Adam,” said Miles, bleary and relieved. “Suppose this means you didn’t make it back to your room?”

“You never know. I can hardly tell.”

“Yes, it is so hazy. I think mine was closest.”

Adam was struggling in the first place to remember where they’d been the night before. Squinting at Miles, he muttered, “Closest to what?”

Miles ignored him. He scrunched up his face and scrubbed his eyes, and as Adam looked, he was less a person and more a pale mess of smeared makeup. The grey smudges around his eyes had drifted towards the shape of a raccoon’s mask, between whatever debauchery he’d gotten up to the night before and then falling asleep with a full face on. With the makeup so worn away, Adam could see his eyes were red and puffy, like he’d taken ill. He ran his tongue over his teeth and grimaced.

“Darling, listen. It is _crucial_ you make me a prairie oyster. And soon.”

Adam barked out a laugh, and then winced as the sound made his head ring. He went limp against the pillow, half-burying his face in it. “Aren’t I your guest? How too cruel, why don’t you ever make me one?”

In a surprising show of strength, Miles put a foot out and shoved Adam, and the bed was quite narrower than he would have thought because he slid off the side of it in a tangle of duvets and limbs. Miles squeaked in shock to see him disappear. He thudded down against something lumpy, with more give than a floor ought to have, but he couldn’t think about that. He was too busy clutching his head and groaning around the thundering headache. And lord, the nausea. His head was going to explode at this rate.

The poor body he’d landed on shifted, flailed, and knocked him aside in a shouting whirl. Adam unwound himself from the blankets well enough to stick his head out. Miles’s photographer friend was railing at him very effectively for it being so early. Although, was it early? Adam dully glanced around for a clock, saw none, and then looked back wincing at Miles’s friend. He was just as disheveled as Miles: still in his clothes, half-undone. Waistcoat hanging off him, tie askew and shirt rumpled. His hair had settled into an awful cowlick and, suddenly self-conscious, Adam reached up and patted his hair down.

“David, what a beastly lot of racket you make,” Miles scolded, peeking over the edge. His curls were as springy and untamed as Adam had ever seen them. “You’re both quite spoiling my morning!”

“Your morning! Quite!” David snapped. “Look at where I’ve ended up.”

Oh, as though he hadn’t heard enough of Miles and David in the last year. Adam burrowed back into the mound of blankets, thinking that would give some protection from the assault of voices and lights and sensations. If he was lucky, he might get back to sleep once they were worn out. He had settled down against the floor, and the other two had blessedly lowered their voices, until they were suddenly joined by a third.

“What are you all doing here?” This voice was accompanied by clumsy footsteps.

“Simon, darling, why you do look very un-charming.”

“Why are you all in my bed?”

“Not all! Just myself and Adam.”

“You and Adam?”

“Oh! Your bed, then, how novel for me.”

Simon stomped closer. “Why were you and Adam in _my_ bed, when _I_ woke up in the park? I’m in such a lot of trouble now being caught out in such a state! I could have been expelled!”

“Well, I could hardly sleep on the floor, I’m not a savage. And Adam’s a good boy. If David hadn’t been such a beast last night, I could have stood to make room for him.”

“That doesn’t at all explain--”

“Miles, you brat, as though you’re such a prize. A few months ago you’d have begged me. You know you won’t get me to grovel.”

“Why-- you, in my bed!”

“So surprised, are you?”

“Oh, I’ve known for a long time how degenerate Miles’s tastes were, but you’ve got some gall bringing it in here.”

“That’s rich coming from you! Natural we’d leave such a yappy dog to sleep outside.”

“David, please, how vulgar.”

“Yes, won’t you have some shame, you little upstart.”

“This is none of your--”

“It started being _my_ business when you invaded _my _room! My life!”

“How wretchedly mean. Acting like I’ve stolen from you, it’s so shaming, you sound worse than middle class, dearest.”

“Oh? I think you’d like me quite better if I was. I’d be very more easily impressed with you that way!”

Adam groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. The pealing voices over his head were unbearably loud, and echoed in his scraped-out skull in the most aching way. He was sick, sick, sick; he couldn’t stand the others while he was like this. Still bundled up in sheets, he began to crawl away from the argument. He found the wall after some shuffling. Slippery through the linen wrapped around his hands, he scrabbled up it to pull himself upright. Now to find the door…

“Oh no you don’t!” Someone grabbed hold of his arm, probably Simon, and wrenched him around. “As though I’d forget your part in this, Symes!”

“Simon, please,” he begged around his cottony tongue.

“Everything was such fun before you! And you came along and spoiled it all. You are such a rat, Adam!” As he railed at him, Simon yanked the twisted sheets off of Adam bit by bit until he had stripped him bare. Adam whined and tried to cover his face. Simon kept wrestling at him, like he was incensed at not having a clear target for his venom. Oh god, he was going to be sick.

Miles cut in, “All this jealousy, Adam isn’t one of us.”

Simon’s voice grew shrill, turning to shout, “You leave me out of it!” at nearly the same moment that Adam doubled over and vomited across his front.

The room went utterly silent other than the sound of Adam retching. When the heaves had stopped and he was able to stand up, feeling maybe just a little better, the next thing to break the thick quiet was Simon’s sniffling as he started to cry.

“Sorry, Simon.”

“It’s not fair.” He peeled out of his trousers and dropped himself onto the floor. “It’s just not _fair_.”

Adam slumped back, apologizing again and again. He hurt so badly and so universally it felt almost numb. His gaze rolled dumbly over the room. Yes, he thought, it did seem to be Simon’s after all. Simon did have such skinny little legs, didn’t he, like a pair of knobbly matchsticks. He jolted as Miles sidled up to him. They avoided the mess as Miles helped him off the wall and towards the door.

“Let’s do go find another room, I think; this one’s occupied,” he whispered over Simon’s growing fit. David had meanwhile thrown himself onto Simon’s bed and gathered pillows under himself in preparation to go back to sleep.

“It’s only your own fault, Balcairn.”

“I hope you all rot,” Simon sobbed.

“I hope I rot myself, darling! And where are you fellows off to?”

Rubbing his back, Miles braced Adam under the arm. Together they were deathly wobbly, though Miles seemed too confident to mind. "Adam must get to bed, and as the only friend he's got in you pack of rats--"

Simon wiped his patchy face on his sleeve. "Miles, you bitch, stay and help clean up!"

"'Oh Miles, get out! Miles, stay!' What a contrary little boy you are. Good morning."

Miles was not a waif like Simon and David. Normally it was to Adam’s disadvantage, but this morning saw their positions astoundingly reversed. Miles had a grim look as they teetered back to Adam’s room that made him worry Miles would drop him and make his own way. Their obvious state got them a lot of rotten looks. Barefoot, tousled, flagrantly hungover. Miles soldiered on as though he didn’t care at all.

They managed their way to Adam’s room in a tumble, miraculously without being caught, and Adam’s head swirled as he flopped into bed. He felt ill again, not least from the taste of sick in his mouth. Miles had gone down too, he realized, and was burying his face in Adam’s pillows. Sleeping already?

“Miles?” he rasped. With a huff, he turned to peek out at Adam. “Pour us some water?”

Miles rolled his eyes and slithered down from Adam’s bed. “You were awfully tight last night, weren’t you darling?” he called up. “I’ve never seen you so sick.”

From his perspective, hardly able to lift his head without feeling ill, Miles didn’t seem to be getting water. He re-emerged in a minute, grasping a half-empty bottle of wine. He popped out the cork and told him to open his mouth. The very sight of it made his stomach turn.

“No Miles, please, I need water.”

He sniffed; for a moment, Adam was sure he would be chastised for asking Miles to play his nurse, but Miles only put his lips to the mouth of the bottle and took a few heavy gulps. Adam smiled despite himself. His mouth left just the faintest smear of wax on the dark glass. Beautiful misery, that Miles. It took the expected amounts of fuss and brattiness, but Miles did eventually bring him over a glass of water. He held it to Adam’s lips, helped him crane himself up to drink. They spilled a lot of it down Adam’s chin, and maybe if circumstances had been different Adam might imagine Miles tracing the water’s path with-- he’d hardly dare to imagine them kisses. But he’d really resolved not to think of that sort of thing anymore, even when he was drunk.

“Does Simon hate me?” he asked as Miles went to the pitcher for more.

“Almost certainly, poor thing.” He laughed at Adam’s sound of distress. “Oh, but Simon hates everything you know!”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“If I know Simon, he hates me most. But don’t look so pathetic, I can’t abide it. Obviously he’ll forgive _you_.”

They wasted a glass or two more of water before Adam was satisfied. Miles gave his hair an affectionate stroke and made to leave. There was another party somewhere, he was sure, that had to be gotten to.

“Don’t go,” Adam burst out. He curled up his knees towards his chest. “Shouldn’t you ought to sleep too?”

“Whatever for, pet?”

“... Because you look terrible.” Miles turned and raised his brows. ‘Terrible’ was an overstatement, but Adam could see the dark circles like thumbprint bruises below his eyes and a sickly whiteness coming over his cheeks. Another day of partying and Miles would look practically consumptive.

“Adam Fenwick-Symes, you are just a beast,” he said, taking out his compact and flipping it open, “I look…”

He snapped it shut and sat down on the edge of Adam’s bed. Adam nestled into the covers, watching the line of his back.

“Will you? Stay with me, I mean.”

Miles groaned and flopped over. They both made an effort not to touch. At least until Miles reached over and put his hand on top of Adam's.

“Thank you," he whispered. "For being my friend.”

Adam was nearly too happy and too tired to speak. "I’m all yours."

\-----

Miles was sure he missed out on a pretty sum of money, the week Adam had come back to stay. Not that he regretted it at all. If he could be embarrassed by anything, it was that vulgar voice in his head, the voice of the survivor, devoted to keeping track of his finances and worrying after his ration card. He absolutely banished it the moment Adam slipped into his room. Mercenary thoughts had no business being in the same head as fawning over his sweet friend’s boyish face and funny little smile. He didn’t even knock, cheeky thing, and caught Miles quite unprepared.

The war had hardly been over a month before Adam had turned in his gun and burst back into his life. All the French boys coming home would have to wait their turn. They spent the next several days testing the construction of every piece of furniture in the room. Adam made quite a carpenter of himself, and nailed Miles very handily on all of them.

“You had better clear out of here soon,” he warned, straddling Adam’s lap on the last day of their spree. “_Maman_ says-- you naughty boy, not while I’m talking! How insatiable you are, you’d think I was starving you. This is _just_ why she says you’re bad for business!”

Adam kissed him with the most winning smile, like he was the happiest he’d ever been in his life.

Sex receded into a well-earned nap. When Miles next woke, Adam was already up, watching him. They were a close knot of body parts; Adam nearly had to cross his eyes to look him in the face. He could just melt. He could very well stay there in bed the rest of his life if he convinced Adam to join him.

Adam pressed his face to his neck and breathed in. His eyelashes tickled Miles’s jaw. What a different picture this made, when he thought of the last time, those months ago. In the moment it had seemed a fluke he’d gotten Adam to fuck him at all.

It had been an age since he’d last been held so nicely, and been so content with it. Since Tiger, he supposed. Hadn’t that been a charming excursion. He usually preferred artists, but such a butch one had been a nice change while it lasted. Tiger would nearly always indulge him, which made him a superior lover. Adam did him one better and indulged him without fail every time, which to Miles made him the pinnacle.

His heart began to really put the squeeze on him. If not for Nina, and Simon, and David, and all their other friends, and Nina-- yes, he thought Adam could have been all his own a long time ago. Adam wouldn’t have made such a fool of himself, scrambling about for money; Miles would have never gotten into such trouble, never with Adam. Aggie would be alive; maybe so would Simon. And that world of course would be too good for the war. If Adam ever said the word, Miles would have disappeared into the night with him and left it all behind. He liked to imagine he would.

He traced a finger on Adam’s chest. “Adam, I hope you don’t think that I… blame you or anything, for how we grew apart?”

Adam looked at him guileless, sweet, and confused. “Do you blame me?”

Of all the stupid questions. Adam had a fine brain in there somewhere, if his rottenly dense skull would only thin out enough to penetrate. Miles pouted so terrifically that he had to take a breath first to prepare for it. “Of course I do! But I _had_ been trying to be nice.”

“It wasn’t intentional. I just got comfortable as I was, I could scarcely keep up with all the new friends you made. It happened so naturally I doubt you could have stopped it short of kidnap.”

His pout found room on his face to deepen. “But you were _my_ friend.”

“And you have me all to yourself again.”

He was in a high tantrum now, and rolled away. He thumped on one of the pillows. “I haven’t, though, you see? Now I’m the one out in the cold, I’m quite shut out of your new life.”

“Now I don’t mean to interrupt, but what the hell did you think I was here for, Miles?”

Miles did his best to ignore him, not least for the crime of cutting him off. Adam really could give you such a pain- he didn’t understand anything. He acted so clever, knowing a thing or two about Miles’s life, but what did he really know? Adam pressed up behind him, kissing on his neck and shoulders, and nearly did him in. He turned around with the intention of pushing him away; Adam caught his hands when he tried. He rolled them over with Miles on his back, and for a delicious moment Miles thought that Adam meant to ravish him again. No luck. He wanted to _talk_, the bastard.

“Did you think I just came here for a fuck? Miles, look at me won’t you, have I ever been that sort of a man? Haven’t I always done best by you, time and again? Dammit, Miles, haven’t you always been precious to me, haven’t I proven it enough?” Adam’s hands cradled his wrists against the bed. He went limp. What a heartless man he’d gone and fallen in love with.

“Oh, what _do _you want?”

“If you must know, I planned to run away with you.”

Oh, yes. It wouldn’t be Adam without the romance. World fallen to pieces around him, and he still managed to have his dreams. “Planned? What a dreadful tense. Have I quite spoilt your appetite?”

Adam’s thumbs stroked his palms like a new sort of kiss he’d discovered. “Planned, plan, planning, will plan. Have your pick.”

Lord, his heart was fluttering. It took a moment to realize that the sensation was a spot of panic. Packing up his scant things, scraping up money, finding some other new town to fear for his life in, where nobody knew him and nobody would stand in front of him and protect him from it all. No _maman_, no girls, no understanding old men and their _maris _living quiet little lives and having him up for tea. Nothing of his own in the world at all, save Adam. He smiled.

“Aren’t we droll tonight! Well. Where are you _planning_ to take me?”

In lieu of an answer, Adam let his arms give way so their bodies pressed together, gasping in relief. He turned and let the very tips of their noses brush. Miles couldn’t say no to that.

\-----

“Adam, darling!”

He managed to turn just as Miles was bouncing up towards him. His arm was grappled at the elbow, and though his books weighed him down on the other side, Miles was determined to pull him along. Adam begged him to let him go back to his rooms first, but Miles was implacable. He had hoped he could make it back before Miles snatched him up. He’d stupidly agreed to come and have his picture taken.

“David won’t like to see me, you know,” he tried to protest, knowing all the time that it was a vain effort. Miles had been the one David invited, and Miles had on the spot turned to him and Simon and extended it to both of them. “You bring me along, we’ll all be mortified and awkward and-- and won’t you be bored? He only wanted to get you alone.”

Miles sniffed, still bouncing as he walked. His feet crunched on the frost gathered on the flagstones. “As though I care a jot about what David wants! If I did, I’d come alone, but I just abhor looking a tease. I’m very nearly bored of him, you know. _Not _as impressive as he thinks.”

“Oh yes? But still good enough to take your picture.”

“He’s a marvelous photo-man! But over the holiday he borrowed £10 to go in on a hand of cards and hadn’t even the decency to win! So naughty. The only thing worse than losing at cards- no, no, this time I am through with that man. Not even to _mention_ his poor performance--”

“-- In such sport as you need not make explicit in public, Miles,” Adam murmured with his face close to Miles’s. Miles smirked like the very devil.

“Oh, surely we need a metaphor. David has just the meanest taste in,” he spread his fingers to show a length of a little less than four inches, “cigars. Petit corona.”

“How despicable of him. If it’s so offensive, why not throw him over for good?”

“I can’t help myself, I think. Sometimes David is everything fun, and I forget what a chore he is.” He smiled and tapped Adam on the nose. “It’s why I need you, Adam, or I’d positively drown in poor imitations of myself.”

Adam wrinkled his nose. Miles was funny, but he had trouble telling when he was joking and when he was being a proper egomaniac.

Simon would be waiting at David’s studio, Miles told him. He didn’t tolerate the cold very well. Not that Miles was much better, how he could moan about the weather. A week couldn’t pass that he didn’t insist he was relapsing some frightful childhood illness- completely invented, Adam was sure, because it changed every time he told the story. The only good thing about the cold in his estimation, was the opportunity to stretch his fashion sensibilities. Adam by contrast could put up with anything; and it never hurt that Miles complimented the handsome red on his cheeks from the brisk air.

The studio was really a room in a cheap hotel, a short mile’s walk away from the university grounds. David wasn’t a student himself, or they might have stayed at Oxford. A wall of heat crashed over him as they shouldered their way inside. It was small, clean, well lit, with a fire at one end which Simon had crouched in front of. He turned as Miles burst out with a greeting and trotted over with the simple, happy gait of a lamb.

He kissed Simon on both cheeks. Simon always ran a bit flush, but now he was glowing; he looked so happy sometimes, when it was only him and Miles. His eyes lit up like a reflection of Miles’s sparkle. On such a miserable boy, the change was too much to be believed. You could tell how long they’d been friends.

Adam hated to interrupt, but Miles looked over for him and beckoned and he had no other choice. Simon’s expression cooled somewhat. He sucked on his lip, self-conscious, looking furtively at Adam. He didn’t know how to tell Simon that it was alright, without inviting some outburst. He’d take Simon over David. Simon stood half a chance at making Miles happy if he’d only give up on Nina.

When they finally went up- Miles insisted on a drink first- David scolded them for having taken long enough. He didn’t look much at either of the other two, beyond a brief reassurance that he’d thought of something to do with them.

David was tall and thin and blonde with a shrill tenor voice, and he could be beautiful when the mood took him. He never made such an effort for Adam’s benefit. Since they’d first fallen in together the past autumn, he rarely did for anyone but Miles. Poor chap had been shocked how quickly Miles had fallen back out. He pouted at them as he explained his plans for the shoot; the bright red he’d painted on his lips accentuated their plump shapes. According to Miles, he kissed excellently. That was surely why Miles let himself backslide every time.

“I’m first of course,” Miles announced as though it weren’t obvious, flinging off his coat and scarf. Sunglasses stayed on.

David had arranged his ‘studio’ with curtains and chaises and lamps and costumes and mirrors all very particularly laid out. The camera stood alone in the middle of it all. Miles flung himself over one sofa and got a light scolding from David. With a comb in hand, he strolled over and tweaked his curls into perfection. Miles didn’t even bother getting belligerent. It was a credit to his trust in the man. David used the excuse to chatter at him, speaking too low for the rest of them to hear, while his comb and the tips of his fingers brushed over Miles and arranged him to his liking. Standing off to the side, Adam felt the way he imagined it would feel to watch a piece of pornography being made. Simon nudged him in the side.

“You wouldn’t have a smoke on hand then, would you?” Adam fished out a couple of cigarettes, one for them each. David might have begged one off him as well, if he didn’t have one unlit tucked behind his ear.

“How are you enjoying it?”

Simon had that bastard look on his face, like he had a mean joke he was waiting to tell. Adam shrugged and lit their cigarettes. He had the choice to ignore Simon and not give him the pleasure. Only, Simon had a way of holding onto these little moments. He stored them and lacquered them like a vengeful oyster, and one day he’d spit it back out at Adam. In front of Nina, with his luck.

“Enjoying what?”

Simon barely tamped down a smirk. “Being Miles’s pet. He’s quite proud of discovering you.”

Shuffling, Adam looked away. Most of Miles’s friends wouldn’t put it so bluntly. Simon refused to be ignored, and sidled around to the front of Adam in a way he probably thought was subtle.

“It was David before you, you know, but he’s not nearly so destitute, I think Miles felt he’d lost out on part of the fun.”

“I’m hardly destitute, Simon.”

“I’m only telling you for your own good. Miles can be very fickle.”

Suddenly the picture opened up before Adam and he couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t know if he’d blame Miles for getting bored of Simon. Simon asked him what was so funny, in a bratty, wounded tone, and Adam ducked his head to hide it.

“Are either of you two watching?” Miles called, throwing his hat across the room. “What’s the point of you if you won’t be a good audience?”

“I say Lennox watches you enough for all three of us. Hardly know why I’ve come.” Simon took a bored drag on his cigarette.

Adam rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind him, Miles, I’m a good sport.”

The smile he earned for that seemed to suck the air out of the room. “Aren’t you always?”

Simon’s stare would have burned less if he’d snuffed out his cigarette between Adam’s eyes. He suspected that was the reaction Miles was looking to provoke. David cleared his throat.

“Shirt off now, darling?”

“How licentious! Only if you promise one or two of these ends up in your next display.”

Miles plucked open the buttons on his shirt and Adam’s heart positively lurched. He shucked it off carelessly. The straps of his suspenders slid down off his arms, and he snapped them back up over his shoulders. The stark black lines against his chest and the pink-and-white stripes of his undershirt naturally drew the eye down. His face was so delicate, Adam was always surprised to see his figure- not stocky, nothing near stocky, but not frail. Soft, a little broad, just hints of tone. He might have actually played a sport once, for all of an hour.

Framing his chin and batting his eyes like a pin-up coquette, he called to David, “How do you want me, darling?”

Adam bit his lip. Well. There was Nina to consider. It wasn’t as though they were engaged. He was still waiting for Nina to hint that she’d allow such a thing, and he’d certainly need something more to provide for her before she would even do that. But he loved her so desperately that it threatened to choke him like gorge rising in his throat. It wouldn’t be a betrayal, but it would _feel_ like one, and that was what counted.

And then there was the matter of it being Miles. David had been the favorite before him, and Simon, presumably, before that. And who knew how many others? Miles giggled as David tried to coax him into shimmying out of his trousers next, and rolled his eyes in Adam’s direction to invite him into some private joke.

The highest crime to Miles was boredom. But there was never any telling what would amuse him or drive him away. The only thing Adam could do, the only thing he knew how to do in any case, was to be himself, and hope that was good enough.

\-----

The south of France suited Miles spectacularly well. The Languedoc was warm, it was gorgeous, it was fashionable. He remembered as much from previous trips, but he had been pretty sozzled most of that time and could hardly have told you the difference between Montpellier and Paris. They were all the same so long as there was a good party on. What a naughty thing he’d been. Now he appreciated his new home.

Adam had gone into construction. The locals tried not to hold his heavy English accent against him, his slowness with the language. He was so good and so eager in doing his part for the reconstruction. It was hard, but Adam assured him that after being a soldier nothing was very difficult. As long as he could bring home some money, Adam could settle for anything.

Of course, it had been a dirty lie. He still flinched at the sound of machinery. They didn’t-- couldn’t-- keep alcohol in their home anymore. Miles had never been so tested, because despite all the stiff-upper-lip assurances in the world, things for Adam could be very difficult. By extension, so for Miles. And to be sure, he could complain. He moaned. Positively bitched. But he wasn’t twenty anymore. It would take quite a lot more than that to drive him off.

Miles helped supplement their income, which surprised them both. He could mend, and when he had the patience, even sew. He earned a few francs at a time on the little projects that young single men would bring him; Adam knew a lot of boys who needed it. It was something he’d had to learn when money and fabric were at a premium. His fingers were naturally careful and precise. All those tedious music lessons had come to some use in the end. It had taken some frustration and some crying, but he learned.

As the war had carried on, he’d gotten quite good at it. It was marvelous. He’d never been ‘good at’ something before. Not unless you counted being a public menace and absolute delight of the kind he had been back home- which, at the time, he had. Over the years, it had gotten harder to take pride in it. He still missed it, it’d been such good fun. But perhaps if he’d been good at anything, he might not have been so afraid when he discovered that for most people, skills were a requisite to live.

(Very briefly, he had considered going back into the profession. It was Languedoc after all, he’d hardly want for clientele. Adam had said that if he really wanted to-- but Miles assured him that it wasn’t a matter of wanting, and despite himself Adam looked relieved. That had pretty much clinched it.)

The front door opened and shut. Oh! How silly of him, he’d been sitting there lost in thought for how long now? Glancing at the clock from where he’d posted up at the kitchen table, Miles gathered up his English newspaper and made to look very reposed. He had some exciting news to give.

“Miles, love, are you in?”

“Kitchen. Darling, you’ll never believe!” he called out, adjusting the perch of his reading glasses. Adam pressed a kiss to his temple as he passed on the way to put the kettle on. “You’ll just never believe whose name I’ve read in the paper!”

“Gotten into a scandal behind my back, have you?” Adam teased from the stove.

“Never! As though I could keep my mouth shut! But listen, my love- it’s David. Isn’t it just the funniest thing!”

That managed to get Adam’s attention even partway through measuring out their tea. “Lennox? That old fox, what sort of trouble has _he_ gotten into? Gambling, indecency?”

Miles couldn’t help but laugh. David had never been as rough as all that- poor David! Oh, he’d always had such a hard time of it, and Miles hardly made it any easier. “Ice cold, darling, completely off the mark. How bad of you to think all that about him- are you jealous?”

“_Jealous_?”

“No, you see, he’s not in any sort of trouble. Just now, I happened to see the list of winners for the academy awards- for film, darling!- and whose name should I read taking home a little statuette for cinematography of all things but my old friend David!”

“It doesn't seem David Lennox would be an uncommon name,” Adam warned. The look on his face said that he couldn’t believe David could win an award for anything. “And Hollywood is a long way off.”

“Well there’s a picture just here you know!”

Coming around behind him, Adam leaned over his shoulder to check. He looked older, and he was smiling a lot more than David had used to. But Miles would know him anywhere. Adam puffed out a laugh.

“What a nightmare! David’s quite more famous than you now.”

That stung a little. Miles tried not to show it. “That awful man had better send me a cheque for making his career. Where would he be without all those stunning photographs of me?”

“If you’re going to write him, you might as well see if he’s got any copies! We could hang one up in the flat. Remind us of the old days.”

“Not that I’d object to that, but you do see me every day.”

“Well how many years ago was it that you fell out with David for good?”

Looking at the grainy photo of David, hairline receding and looking a little wrinkled already, he said, “Not all that long ago, I’m sure. Not so long that the picture would look much different. David was a little older than us, you know. Have the ravages of age been unkind to me, do you suppose?”

“No, darling. But I daresay you’ve put on some weight.” Miles lifted his eyes from the page and glanced at him.

“Don’t tell me you disapprove, how parochial.”

“Never. You’re breathtaking.”

Adam’s hands crept over onto his chest. Miles tossed his paper and his glasses onto the table with a smirk and turned to let Adam’s lips sear over his. “Too right. More of me to appreciate, hm?”

The kettle, which had begun to ping and boil in the background, let out a soft whistle. Adam cringed at it. Normally he minded it more closely. He pecked him with another kiss, and Miles dragged himself with it, not wanting to be let go. Adam managed to escape and take the kettle off the burner. Miles put on his best sulk.

“Abandoned again, how predictable. I’ll bring you some in bed later if you’ll leave it alone for now.”

He caught the edge of Adam’s smile as he failed to suppress it and turned away. “Is that all you think it’ll take to get me into bed with you, Miles?”

“I’ve done less.”

It was his turn to creep up behind Adam. He was still a little grimy from work, a little dusty, not yet had the chance to wash up. Naturally he must be exhausted. Putting his hand at the small of his back, under his suspenders, he leaned in close and promised that he still knew how to spoil Adam properly. Adam’s ears lit up with red at the suggestion. He turned the stove off and emptied the kettle into the sink.

Their place had modern facilities- that had been high priority for Miles. He perched on a footstool and washed Adam’s hair and his back, pressing his fingers into the knots until they unwound. Sighing, Adam leaned back into his hands. His eyes were shut, face serene. Like this, he always looked younger, resting or sleeping. Back into the innocent boy he’d first met curled up with his books out in the park. Miles’s heart thrummed with warmth. He kissed the joint of his neck with an open mouth and left a pink stain, and then scrunched up his face and stuck his tongue out in disgust at the taste of soap. Adam laughed. Miles splashed him and got up to rinse his mouth out.

Miles fussed over himself in the mirror for a minute, reapplying his lipstick and making alluring faces at himself. He still looked good, he could see it with his own eyes. And yet… He glanced over at Adam, turning himself backwards to watch him with a hint of concern. Miles braced himself in the doorway and shot Adam a look under heavy lids.

“Ready yourself, won’t you?” His tone was low, smooth, impossible for Adam to talk back to. He blushed too deeply to even consider it.

Not wasting time, he arranged the bedroom how Adam liked it- stripped the covers off the bed, laid down towels, arranged pillows in all the right places for him to lie back on. A little elaborate if you asked Miles. It was the one area, he thought, where their usual tendencies were reversed. Miles could happily screw on pavement. He was quite sure he’d done so once, and if his recollection of the good old days weren’t so booze-blinkered he’d probably look back on such naughtiness fondly. 

To be comfortable, Adam needed the whole production of it. He was such a good boy that Miles couldn’t hold it against him. From the bathroom, he heard a gentle slosh of water. He smirked and undid his buttons, half devoted to watching himself in the mirror and half to picturing Adam leaning back in the bath, hand reaching under himself. Pink creeping into red and teeth sinking into his lip as he braced himself against the feeling. Embarrassed by his own vulnerable little pleasures. Adam could be so shy.

Miles reclined on the bed, down to stockings and garters and hand on his prick. The better for Adam to ogle him. For a moment, he half-missed David; he would have made a hell of a picture. The bed dipped under Adam’s knee as he crawled over Miles. The smudge of pink remained on his neck.

They fell into the dance together, Miles pulling him down to kiss. They glided together beautifully. Adam’s skin was still damp. His hair dripped onto Miles’s chest, into the hair he’d let gather; he’d given up some of the meticulous shaving when Adam said he liked to run his fingers over it. Turning them over, still pressing kisses into his mouth like sweets, Miles led him up and up until Adam could collapse back against his mound of cushions and towels.

He touched Adam with delicate fingertips. Starting at his waist, Miles traced him with familiarity down the soft insides of his thighs. Goosebumps raised on his skin. Unable to be so patient, he took Miles in hand and snagged his lip between his teeth. Miles laughed and nipped him back. Surely Adam should know by now that Miles wouldn’t give in to that kind of goading? Not now that he was determined to have him.

“You certainly seem ready, don’t you, naughty boy.”

His hand slipped down between Adam’s legs. Adam leaned back into the pillow and shivered. Petroleum jelly was probably mankind’s most valuable invention.

“Shall I possess you then?” Miles asked, voice a rumble. When Adam only nodded- fervently, mind- he clucked his tongue. “No, no, dear. Say ‘yes please, Mother.’”

He blushed. “Yes please, Mother.”

“Very good. You almost had me convinced.”

“Miles come on--” Miles raised a brow-- “Oh, stop that. I’m begging you. Isn’t this what you want? Anything you like, please. I’ll be good.”

Adam had the most darling look on his face, happiness edging on desperation. Miles dipped his head and kissed him, and patted him a bit firmly on the leg.

“Up, angel.”

Obediently, Adam hitched his legs up around Miles’s hips, feet crossed at the small of his back. His hands kneaded into Adam’s thighs, then higher, until he was all but liquid. He loved to take his time with Adam, as though to demonstrate his mastery over his body. Adam was always a good sport about being mastered, which is why Miles didn’t expect to feel both his hands reach up and cup his face.

“Marry me?”

Miles stopped and stared at him. “_Now_?”

“Well not right this second, unless you’d really like to.”

“I’m glad you think you’re funny, dear.”

“I’m not joking!”

“You-- oh!” he huffed, letting Adam go and rolling off to the side. Adam pawed at him, and damned if Miles wasn’t tempted, damned if he wasn’t still hard, but oh he was so _cross_! “You could have picked a better time.”

“I didn’t plan it.”

“Didn’t you! A spur of the moment proposal in bed’s just what every girl dreams of.”

“I mean, I’d been thinking of it for some time now. That I’d very much like to marry you, you know.”

Miles flicked him on the ear. “You mustn’t interrupt me. I’m cross.”

“That I love you.” Adam continued, unimpeded. “That you’ve made me so, truly happy. Miles, I saw you today and I knew I couldn’t go much longer without asking. It means the world to me.”

Adam would go on like that for ages if Miles didn’t put a stop to it. He let Adam draw him closer and kiss him on the corner of the mouth. “Oh, hush. Well I love you too, you silly old thing, but what’s gotten into you?”

Adam smiled. “We’ve been living in sin for years, I’ve got to make you honest sometime if I plan on going to heaven.”

“Adam, you scoundrel, will you use the afterlife to get away from me?”

“Naturally I plan to drag you with me, kicking and screaming if necessary.”

Pulling him up chest to chest, Miles draped Adam’s leg across himself and elicited a pleased gasp. “Funny, I had the same idea of getting you into hell.”

“Will you?” Adam breathed. “Marry me, I mean?”

“Yes, alright. You asked for it.”


	2. the moon will set

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another rambling character piece, now with even more rambling and even more character. I'm definitely the last person in this fandom but I'll be on this ship until I die. Thanks to anyone who checked this out!

Adam turned from his desk at the sound of hurried tapping at his window, and dropped his pen and his jaw. It wasn’t entirely uncommon for Miles to sneak in through the window, especially when he’d smuggled something naughty onto the premises. But rarely did he come dressed like _that_. A slinky dress in rich black-purples, all covered in ruffles and dark feathers, and a kind of altered mourning veil pinned into his curls. His arms were completely bare, with a set of long, black gloves clutched in one hand; he waved to Adam with a wiggle of his little finger.

Throwing the window open, Adam cried, “For god’s sake!”

Miles ignored him, and reached out for Adam to help pull him into the room. He was clearly already into the stuff. Adam could tell by the frantic way he moved, that Miles was altered.

“How bad of you, you’re not at all ready to go,” Miles scolded. He stooped under Adam’s bed, and pulled out a bottle of liquor entirely at random. Adam snatched it back, and he started huffing and grabbing for it. He tried to twist out of reach, but Miles was quite as tall as he was, and in his shoes had another inch over him.

“Stop that! God damn you, Miles! Go where?”

Miles stopped and threw his gloves on the floor. “Don’t vex me, Adam! Alfie’s place and afterwards to Chez Victor! How cruel of you to play a trick like this on me!”

“I haven’t heard a damn thing about any party at Alfred’s. Now you had better go before I really—”

“No, no. I asked you this morning, coming back from Dorothy’s. And hadn’t I said that I was a naughty thing and had thrown away my entire allowance on the most wild outfit, so I should need to borrow a little something to get in?”

Adam tossed the bottle over onto his bed, and thankfully his aim was good. His face had turned a little pink with the frustration and effort. “I wasn’t at Dorothy’s last night.”

Miles blinked and made a face, embarrassment pulling down from the corners of his mouth.

“Oh. Well! Surprise!” He crouched just to scoop his gloves up, and draped them over the crook of his elbow. “It’s going to be completely divine, I’ve been assured. Obviously my Alfie will be there, and Aggie and Nina. I so miss them. Do come, Adam, it’ll be too torturous without you.”

The mention of Nina caught his attention, but he was still cross with Miles for his bad behavior. He didn’t want to seem eager and give Miles the impression that he was forgiven. Her visit with Agatha had been months ago, but he still sometimes thought of her: her lush, high voice and thicket of dark curls. What a dreamlike tone she had speaking, what articulate fingers.

“What sort of party is it?”

“Isn’t it obvious!” Miles spun so that the ruffles pinned to him made a really splendid rustle. When his eyes caught the light and flashed, as they did, it looked all the more striking beneath the shade of black lace.

Adam dropped back into his seat, saying, “I’m too dull tonight for all that, I’ve got to study. Besides, you know I haven’t any girly costumes.”

Miles clasped his chest in pantomimed outrage as Adam turned back to his desk. “What bogus, Adam, but you must come with! I’ve been telling Edward how attached I am to you, how I bring you everywhere. He’s driving, you see, and if you’re not with me he’ll tease me and call me a flake and he’ll jolly well make me cry. It’ll be your fault for making me miserable.”

“It isn’t my fault you’re a flake, Miles. You can be as wicked as you like to me, it won’t change anything.”

“If I did what you’re tempting me to do, you’d never speak to me again.”

Miles stomped over and took him under the chin to force him to look. He hated when you didn’t look while he was talking- he made too much of an effort with his lips, like a stage performer, and he couldn’t waste it. Adam set his pen down. For just a moment, something like resentment flashed in his chest, hot and gripping, that the touch of Miles’s bare fingers had sent such sparks to every distant point of his body.

How thick the air had gotten now. Adam watched his face settle from a high sulk, softening to blankness. His tongue brushed over his lower lip, and Adam was powerless not to watch it. He wasn’t sure how exactly he knew this, but he _knew_ that if he didn’t do something soon, Miles was really going to kiss him, and maybe they wouldn’t make it to the party at all.

“You said Nina would be there?”

Miles laughed and perched his hand on his hip, backing away from Adam in a rustling swing. “Spare me, you’ve only met her the once. I’ve never seen a man so obsessed.”

“Will she?”

“Only if Agatha is there and there’s no guarantee she will be. Aggie’s word means almost nothing you know.”

"A pair of consummate liars, the two of you."

“You’re just as bad, pretending you won’t go just to torment me.”

“Miles, unlike you, I’ll have consequences to face if I flunk out of here, and you know, I’m not here just because my family—”

“Oh how boring, you’re being sanctimonious now. You can be such a snob, darling.” Miles plucked up the bottle from Adam’s bed, and looked it over like he was considering opening it now. “The Blounts have got money too you know, do you object to her now?”

Adam almost protested that he didn’t ‘object’ to Miles, but that would get him nowhere. Sighing, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Alright, alright. Would you at least tell me if she’ll be there? I’d like to see her again.”

“And I have no idea why!” Despite his words, Miles had brightened considerably and his tone was light and sweet. “Now, not another word about her. We’ll stop at Margot’s and dress you- I’ve left all my favorite things there.”

That could only spell trouble for him. “Please don’t make me look absurd, Miles.”

“Oh, not to worry! You know you fit into anything of mine, you can have your pick.”

Miles opened his window and beckoned him over. If they wanted to get out without Miles breaking his ankles, Adam would have to help again. Adam slipped through easily enough, feet crunching on mulch and discarded leaf, edged with fine evening frost. It was a chill autumn that year. 

With Miles halfway through the window after him, complaining what a great drop it looked to the ground and how his hands were quite too full, Adam lost his patience and did his best to scoop under Miles’s legs to carry him out. His arm smoothed under the edge of his dress, and Miles sat still in uncharacteristic cooperation for the few seconds before Adam set him down. He shook out his arms and shut the window behind them. The cold glass stung his fingertips. The night was only going to get colder.

“I don’t suppose we’re all meant to be wearing dresses?”

The look he returned to Adam was dazed and glittering. His skin was lit in gold from the lamp Adam had left on in his room.

“Well, I—” Miles’s breath caught for a moment, and he clutched the bottle tighter to his chest. “I won’t _force _you, darling. But it would be in awfully bad taste if you won’t.”

“I wouldn’t mind. I’m always out of fashion.” Did he sound a little too proud of that? Miles must have thought so, if his indulgent grin meant anything.

“How cruel that would be to me! I don’t have a single pleasure in life besides making you up.”

Miles could so exaggerate. Nothing in his life, as far as Adam could guess, was ever unpleasant.

Edward thumped on his car’s horn as they approached, clearly impatient with how long Miles had taken on his errand. Living with Miles and his ways was unthinkable, especially when Adam climbed into the car after him and saw the weary lines bracketing Edward’s mouth. A formal parenthesis trodden by constant exasperation to prove that nothing he had to say on any subject mattered a jot if Miles had got to the topic first. Not that much older than his brother, Edward nonetheless gave the impression of being more his father. He offered Adam a cigarette; Adam declined. Edward lightly remarked upon ‘sissy tastes,’ even as Miles pulled out a few cigarettes of his own for the two of them.

Adam and Miles exchanged a look, which Edward caught in the mirror. He alerted them with a clearing of the throat. Nobody spoke for the rest of the drive.

Wasting no more time, Miles spirited Adam into the house nearly before Edward had parked. They must pop in on Margot before they went, Miles told him as they snuck past a butler. It was very bad sneaking, but the old fellow had given up on being scandalized by anything a long time ago.

They found Margot in the parlor, fully made up as though she were preparing to go out, but in her hand was a slim novel. Adam hung back as Miles burst in, so he couldn’t quite tell what it was- but it appeared to be one of those godawful desert romances. Not that he had any opinions on what sort of smut a woman could read, should read, in privacy of her own house, except this was his best friend’s mother, and— he tugged at his collar. Miles hardly seemed to notice she was busy with anything else before he trotted up to her for approval.

“Mummy, don’t I look darling?” he demanded, spinning on the ball of one foot. A feather whipped into his face. Now that Adam looked, aside from the accoutrements, he was sure the dress was quite of a kind with Margot’s.

Only just sparing a glance up from her novel, Margot said, “It’s lovely, Miles, but your waist does seem to take the long way ‘round it, does it not? You had better wear something with a jacket.”

The smile had frozen on his face. “It’s a different sort of party. You wouldn’t have me bore them.”

“Of course not, darling.”

“Well! I’m going to take Adam _upstairs_, then. My man friend, Adam, you remember?”

“Oh, yes. Give him my best.”

Adam braced himself for the tears as soon as they were out of Margot’s sight. Instead Miles faced where he must have thought she was sitting, on the other sight of the wall, and stuck out his tongue. “Jealous hag.”

“Come on, Miles, I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, yes she did.” Miles clattered out of his heels and stormed up the stairs in his stockings. “Margot’s only ever half loved me since I learned to dress myself.”

“A shame you so excel at it.”

Miles wouldn’t spare a giggle for his barefaced flattery, but his bad mood did wane a little.

Since taking up residence in the dormitories, Miles had converted his childhood bedroom into clothing storage. At least, Adam assumed his room hadn’t always looked this way. He’d snappishly banned the help from even entering, last he’d told him; that was easy enough to believe, looking at the chairs and tables piled with bottles and tea sets and gouts of fabric. With a keen eye one could follow the hobbies he had blown through: his piano sat shut and covered in stationery, felt flowers, moleskines of designs and scribbles, catalogues.

“My Alfie is such a naughty boy,” Miles informed him, digging through a bureau of desultory trinkets. “He leaves my things anywhere he likes! I was in such raptures over my costume, I had to see him early today to show it off. And you know, he really had the nerve to leave my compact here where just anyone could find it, and just when I was desperately craving a pick-me-up. I could have burst into tears if I hadn’t known he carries his own— aha!”

Oh, he should have known. Why else would Miles drag him all over town on his insistence to visit home?

He beckoned Adam away from the dresser and the facial massager he’d been inspecting (“Oh, I could die! You must forget seeing that.”) and cleared off a space for them to sit on his bed. Adam made a halfhearted protest before dipping his head towards Miles’s hands. He blinked hard as his eyes watered. Miles swiped his thumb over Adam’s top lip and tittered with laughter. The sound was especially beautiful.

“Good boy. Aren’t we too thrilling now?”

Certainly, he thought, watching Miles take his own dose, he was bound to be more amenable to fun.

Miles dragged a few great armfuls of options for fancy dress out of every corner and employed Adam in finding something suitable. He tried to beg off, to no avail. They’d only really come here to pick up the compact after all, excuses aside. But Miles simply could not allow him to leave the house looking so drab. As good a joke as it would be, it would spoil too quickly; dressing Adam up in something shocking would last him all night for pleasure.

“What about this, then?” He flapped the sleeve of a daringly plum jacket. Not a perfect match to Miles, but close enough in the dark, and he’d be sure to forgive Adam for wandering off in search of Nina if they looked a decent couple walking in. Miles glanced at his choice with an immediate spark of approval in his eyes, but shook his head.

“No, no. Aggie and I are paired off tonight. I’d be such a beast to give away our color!”

It was silly to take it personally. Even if Miles meant anything by it, as if the thoughtless boy ever did, Miles would always prefer Agatha. He could hardly compete. He tried for a teasing smile. “Well then, it would be really good of you to match me to Nina.”

Miles squinted at him and took a haughty breath in through the nose. “Now you have really _asked_ for it, Adam.”

Diving his hands into the pile of costumes, he rifled through them with newfound purpose. Adam could have laughed at the concentration on his face. In fact he was laughing, he realized, covering his mouth. Miles stopped his search long enough to shake a finger at him. “Don’t you laugh! Obviously you can’t be trusted to know what’s good for you.”

“I’ll leave it to Mother, won’t I?”

“Yes!” Miles cried in vindication, pulling out a rectangular bit of fabric and flinging it at Adam. A milky pale shawl, not as fine to the touch as it had looked in the photos David had taken of Miles in it. “As usual, it falls to Miles to be the voice of reason in a deplorable world.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know.” He watched Miles gather up the rest of the dress, a shimmering monstrosity he and David had designed together in an inspired fever. Long sleeved, long hemmed, lacy and cumbersome and last-decade. It was some— oh, some Snow White something or other. A lot of very on-the-nose photographs of Miles being sensual with apples. David had proposed a prince to match, but even for Miles, it had been decided, that would just be too flagrant.

“Only because you’ve been so provoking tonight.” He pressed the dress into his arms, and Adam obediently went to change behind the closet door. “I sometimes think you’ve been such a prince, only to have you _really_ incense me.”

Adam had less difficulty than he imagined getting into the thing. He left it open at the back, unable to reach all the little clasps, but as long as he kept it pinned with his elbows bolted to his sides it shouldn’t trouble him. It lay on him like a sheet, like a chiton. It was quite all wrong. No matter how near in heights and weights, he was not made like Miles. He had no essential elegance to buoy him. He felt stupid.

Still, Miles grinned and clapped his delight. He looked so positively giddy that Adam knew he wouldn’t try to argue it. “Just divine!”

“Bad liar,” Adam insisted, rubbing his arms. The lace itched under his hands.

“Not at all! Oh, Adam, what a dream you are.”

“Alright, alright. Button me up, won’t you, if you don’t want this awful thing falling off of me.”

One of Miles’s warm fingers brushed the fine hairs at the small of his back. Accidental, light. Nothing at all. Not compared to, Miles giving up on all of these little buttons and dipping his hands under the fabric, feeling along Adam’s skin all the way to his chest, feeling down… Miles slipped the last clasp together and smoothed a hand along the seam. Adam swallowed. He had to find himself a girl soon.

Miles came around to his other side, cooing over his supposed prettiness, to tie up and drape the wrap around his head and arrange the trail of it around his shoulders. Adam tucked his handkerchief into the front of the dress just for something familiar. In the mirror, he was hardly a convincing woman.

“Now, this’ll really give Nina a shock.”

Adam scoffed, wobbling and indignant. “How is it you’re allowed to mention her—”

“Enough of that!” Pinching his cheek, Miles herded him back into his shoes and down the stairs. He only barely grabbed the bottle for their entrance fee. “Even the fear of Margot won’t keep Edward waiting on me forever. Trust that brute to drive off without me and make you pay for a cab.”

“Make _me?_”

“I told you, darling, I’m penniless tonight! If I’m very charming, I may convince Alfie to pay you back for the trouble of taking me to him.”

Thankfully, Adam would have no need. Edward had not yet abandoned his post, though when he caught sight of Adam in his costume he clearly wished he had.

Alfred was hosting tonight out of his family’s estate, rather than his suite at the Langham. This was ostensibly for more space and more partygoers, but also to minimize chances of arrest. It was quite a daring theme. Alfred must have been alerted to the fact that not everyone could get away with what he could. Adam doubted he had considered it on his own. He privately suspected that Miles had wanted to try on a very rich boyfriend for once, to see if it suited him any better. It was hard to imagine any other motivation he would have to love an insipid boy like Alfred. But he seemed to enjoy it so far. Not least because most of the time he didn’t have to depend on Edward for a ride.

A few opportunistic cameras flashed at them as they tumbled out of the car; Miles retaliated by blowing kisses to the photographers. Had he planned to show up late, and be sure that he was caught on film? Adam did his best to protect his face with the bottle. Shifting between that and the ends of his scarf, he managed to hide himself from prying eyes all the way up the drive until Miles had dragged them through the front door.

He sagged back against one wall to catch his breath. He felt a moment from falling over himself, trapped in this beastly gown. A few of Miles’s feathers hadn’t quite survived the trip, and had been crushed down towards his face. When he couldn’t seem to make them stand back upright, he pulled one out from the veil and tucked it into the pin of Adam’s shawl. He didn’t fight it, but still hunched over his arms.

“I don’t know that I like this, Miles. ”

“Always so worried! They’ll forget by the morning, darling.”

“Just because _you’re_ in the habit of— of obliterating the previous night, that doesn’t go for everyone else, you know.”

“What a hypocrite!”

Alfred’s brother broke away from chatting with a masked woman in a suit long enough to interrupt them, welcome them in, and divest Adam of the liquor. The parlor was dark, lit dimly and sometimes shaded with blue, a whirl of conversation and jazz blaring from the gramophone and almost suffocating with half-known faces which Miles identified without effort. Miles kept an arm hooked through his as they made a circle of the room, on the lookout- Miles for the host, Adam for just a hint of Nina. Every few steps, he would be pulled into another brief, almost wordless dialog, or someone would press drinks onto them. Miles accepted anything you put into his hand, but Adam’s head was so swimming already that he mostly refused.

“Miles!”

They both collided, turning towards David Lennox, that rat, who was hurrying towards them. Miles at last detached himself from Adam and threw himself at David, exchanging kisses on the cheek and one more, stolen breathlessly, from Miles’s mouth.

If Adam had been on the fence about David before, this would send him over. To make matters worse, he hadn’t even respected the theme. He stood out very much, in a carmine suit.

“I had almost thought you wouldn’t come after all. It’s been such a bore, you might as well have missed it.”

“Not for anything, darling! But I had to have my way with Adam first.”

David finally took note of him, glancing him up and down.

“Say, Symes, isn’t that Miles and I’s dress?” David’s tone was sharp- Adam thought, whetted with suspicion that Miles had watched him change into it.

“Oh, do you recognize it?” he said a little stupidly.

“Well, naturally I do, you know, didn’t I design the damned thing? Don’t you think it was a poor idea to wear it? I daresay they’ll find how you wear it a little passé”

Adam was gathering up his words, trying to decide if he even cared about being out of mode, when Miles cut him off with a disapproving cluck.

“Oh David, you brute.” Miles smacked him in the chest with one of his gloves. “You’re a fine one to talk! I can’t be seen with you so flouting the dress code like that.”

“Hadn’t we seen you in some sort of matador thing at that boat party a few months ago?” Adam chimed in. David shrank into his cape and scowled.

“I think we had! What bad taste, wearing the same thing again so soon.”

But in fairness, David looked quite striking. Blood red and black, hair slicked back, a dark half-cape and gloves. Adam could hardly blame him for wanting to wear it again. The trousers clung to him, like wet stockings sculpted to his thighs. Better off than Adam. Miles plucked and pinned one of his drooping feathers through David’s buttonhole.

“There!” he exclaimed. “Now I’ve staked my flag in both of you, I’m off to find Alfie. That man does give you the slip!”

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Adam called as Miles wiggled his fingers and sauntered off.

David nudged him in the shoulder, and when he’d gotten his attention, sighed. “What an ingrate Alfred is. Miles, fawning and tripping for a moment with him, and where is he?”

“He might not be here yet.”

“What, not at his own house? Not likely. How beastly, neglecting his friend. And Miles is so good and writes him all these pretty lines, and you know how Miles hates to write. You wouldn’t catch me acting so prodigiously bad for anything.”

Oh, as though he hadn’t heard enough of Miles and David in the last six months. He had never been so sulky until Miles graduated from collecting boys and batting his lashes and prompting poetry out of them, and had started taking them to bed. Adam had tried not to let the change affect him too much.

“I’ll fetch drinks then, won’t I?” said Adam with no intention of fetching drinks. David, who understood completely and would rather Adam were out of his sight anyway, nodded.

There was only one object of his being here. He could have been in his dormitory, studying and being ever so good. But if only Nina were here, if only he could see her again and have a proper conversation without Miles cutting into every other word or demanding every ounce of his attention- if only he could find Nina, Miles would be worth it.

Agatha danced her way almost into his arms- the crowd parted around her wild spinning as best they could. She stopped with a dizzy sway and grabbed at Adam’s arms. A few long violet feathers drooped into her face. He’d mistake them for Miles’s mark on her if they didn’t match her own aubergine suit.

“Adam!” she cried in manic delight. “Isn’t that Miles’s dress?”

He did not grimace. “Oh, do you recognize it?”

“How droll that he borrowed it to you! He’s such the funniest thing.”

“He surely is.”

Passing behind Agatha, only scarcely seen in the darkened room, was his angel. Everything else was forgotten, including manners. Not that Agatha minded those. He excused himself hastily and, half tripping on his hem, shuffled through the press towards her. She had taken refuge by one of the walls, dancing by herself a little self-consciously.

“Nina,” he gasped, suddenly quite out of breath. She was a vision of pearls and seashells. Her eggshell suit glowed under the dim, tinted lights.

The dancing halted, her arms lowering down to her sides. Looking him head to toe, she asked with some reluctance, “Have we met?”

His face fell. She didn’t remember him after all. “Adam?” When the name stirred no recognition he tried again, more desperately. “Fenwick-Symes? From Oxford. We all went down the Grove together when Aggie came up, Miles fell into the river—”

“Oh!” She made a sharp little gesture, like she was excited to have remembered. “Miles’s friend, of course. You had to give him your coat. How are you both, darling?”

“Tolerably well. Classes as dull as ever, though I manage it better than him. I’m sure you know what a snit he gets into.”

Nina laughed softly without opening her mouth. “I’m glad to hear he hasn’t changed. But there’s no need to be so discreet you know. Not with me. Miles must have you trained for it, what a loudmouth he can be.”

His head spun with a rush of heat. “No! I’m not, well, you know. Never me.”

“I only assumed, you know, the things they say about boys at school, what you all get up to. Hypocrites’ club and everything. One naturally assumes.”

“I’ve never been.”

“Well.” She patted him on the wrist and looked at him a little sidelong. “Funny then, you wearing one of his gowns.”

“Oh, do you recognize it?” He plucked at his skirt and ruffled it. “I should have known.”

“Yes. It must seem very snobbish of me, but when I saw you in it and hadn’t known who you were, I thought, well I thought, ‘what an awful climber he must be, imitating my friend Miles like that.’”

Adam laughed. “Miles is punishing me.”

“Whatever for, darling?”

“Well, he warned me. I was asking too much about you.”

Nina was a good girl. He could tell by the way she flushed and smiled at his compliment, how sensitive she was to it and how demure her response.

“I suppose you’re looking to dance, then?”

Oh, his heart could have broken. “No,” he stammered with as much regret as he could muster. “I would, if I could move in this blasted thing. I should really love to. Miles is lighter than air, crawled right through my window- I can’t imagine how you ladies do it!”

“You know, I am having much the same trouble!” she admitted brightly. She tugged on the trousers of her suit, and he was so careful not to linger even as the seam tempted his eye to follow it. “Aggie looks all grace, I thought I would have a bally good time being a man. But it is so awkward, quite confining. Is it shallow to say, I think it makes my figure very boring?”

“I don’t think it’s such a bad thing to be shallow.” He swallowed and elected to push his luck, adding, “And you look beautiful in any case.”

Her eyes glittered. It wasn’t like Miles, that mad, wild animal flash. It was lustre like the pearls hanging from her ears. Sane and refined and good-tempered and uncomplicated. And you could tell she had a brain. She was easy to have a conversation with, he found, the longer they talked; some people never had anything at all to say.

“Brace yourself,” she managed to warn only moments before a hand came out of the darkness and crowd and clutched his wrist. There was the tremble of fabric on bunched fabric, scraping like a wild animal.

“Adam.” Miles whispered only loud enough to hear, and his voice wavered.

He shouldn’t resent him. He really oughtn’t be angry. Miles was the one with the grace to bring him along, not just to this party but to all the parties, everywhere. But he couldn’t muster a smile; he was lucky not to have snarled at Miles, the mood he was in.

Turning to him, Adam saw that Miles was all smudged. Shockingly, it was not with the signs of the usual party antics- not the lipstick smeared, but his eyes, once so carefully painted. They were open quite wide, and his lip trembled. You could practically mistake him for having feelings.

“What’s wrong?”

Rather than answer, Miles tugged on his arm. Adam squeaked out an excuse and a goodbye to Nina, barely knowing what he’d said.

The door to the empty veranda was only just shut when Miles let out a pitched sob and folded against Adam. He clung like a tide threatened to sweep him away. His silly little feathers bobbed.

Taking him by the arms, Adam held him at a little length. “Miles, you’re being quite a little bit tiresome! What _is_ the matter now?”

Where before his cries had been all voice, at the heat in Adam’s tone wetness started to gather in his eyes. Tears slipped down over his lashes, and he made no move to dab them up. No doubt he wanted Adam to feel as guilty as possible.

“I am just so excellently distraught. Is there no man in the world,” he began with hitching breaths, “that I won’t lose to marriage? I can’t imagine anything more rotten than a wife.”

“Good God, I’ve only met Nina twice, I’m not exactly in danger.”

“Don’t be so self-absorbed, Adam!” Adam wasn’t sure how he could tell the change, but Miles was crying in earnest now. His face crumpled a bit, and he hid behind one of his hands. “Edward will marry for the family, and Simon for his, and even David says one must marry eventually, and it’s all unbearable. And— and Alfie is such a beast. I simply despise a man like that!”

His heart softened. “Oh, Miles, I’d thought…”

“Thought he seemed to really like me?”

He rubbed Miles’s bare shoulders and arms, chilled by the November air. Miles began to wipe his face on the backs of his gloves- he must have forgotten his handkerchief. Adam pulled out the one he’d stuffed into the front of his dress. At the sight of it, Miles’s crying broke into wet laughter.

He pressed the bit of cotton into Miles’s hand. “Everybody likes you, Miles.”

“Thank you.” He held the handkerchief loosely, but when he didn’t move to blot the tears off his cheeks, Adam guided his hand up to help him. He giggled as Adam nearly poked him in the eye. “Stop, stop! Give me a moment, Adam, you can be in such a rush. You really do mean it when you say such sweet things, don’t you?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Of course.”

“That is why you’re special, you know,” Miles confided, sniffling. “Nobody ever means anything anymore. Not even me. I can quite gab about anything for an hour and hardly put a pair of honest words together. You must have noticed.”

“I know you do it on purpose. You’re not stupid, Miles.”

The look on Miles’s face was… startled, perhaps. He brushed his fingers over the back of Adam’s hand. He stayed perfectly still, feeling very much like a hare watching a hunter and trying to tell if he’d been spotted. People like Miles, people like Nina, they really could make you think you were the only two people on earth. They could make you think everything else had frozen or melted away.

The door behind him opened with a sigh and Miles hopped back a few inches. He’d gotten awfully close without Adam even realizing. He whipped around to catch sight of— Nina. Her head poking out into the cold air, beads and hair lit from behind with fuzzy cool-toned light. She looked at him quite delicately, and smiled.

“Adam, dear,” she said, “you’re needed.”

“Oh. Yes, just give me—”

Miles waved his handkerchief at him. “Go on then. You know I’m quite sick of you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Quite.” He gave a watery smile, and it was all the convincing Adam needed to shut the door and follow Nina back inside.

“What am I needed for?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing at all. I just had to rescue you, you know, Miles can be such a bore when he goes on.”

Adam laughed, warmth creeping through his chest. She really was perfection. He ended up deep in the crowd, shuffled between her and Agatha. The buzzing in his head, though it should have been wearing off by now, only seemed to grow louder, more eager, more excited. Beside Agatha, beside the dozens of other bodies, it became apparent that he and Nina matched after all.

A flash of black feathers caught his eye above the crowd, and when he turned, he saw Miles scuttle out of the room with a carmine red suit clinging to him. Nobody made it to Chez Victor.

\-----

He hadn’t known he still had it in him to throw such a good party. 

Adam had stood by for the last few months and watched Miles turn their wedding into a neighborhood event. If he wanted discreet, he’d said, he should have found somebody else to marry. Their guests spilled out over the balcony, and into the adjacent flat which he had gently commandeered, and onto the grassy strip in front of their door. Every spare inch that he hadn’t managed to pack with people- tolerant coworkers and _voisins_, writerly expats, the broad circle of Miles’s local friends- burst with flowers and refreshments. Thinking of the old days, everyone paying their way in with drink, he’d turned it into a great sort of potluck. Their friends had brought a menagerie of plates and glasses and silver, and dishes from a list curated by Miles himself.

(David had not come. Miles extended the invitation quite in the knowledge that he wouldn’t. He despised a rejection more than anything, but to read David’s forced politeness and know that he was positively rioting in private, he had thought it worth the pains. He was right. The letter he received had been a delight.)

Naturally Miles was overflowing. One could hardly see him and not take him for a god of spring. He had plucked a bunch of baby’s breath from a bouquet and arranged it on his ear. Every time someone reminded him that he was beautiful, his glow intensified. He was blinding the time his most cherished guest arrived.

Flinging open the door, there she was at last. He had worried that over the years she would have changed, that perhaps he wouldn’t recognize her. But had they never met, he would still recognize her. Not a little identical to him in her pretty face and enormous eyes. The same grin had already stretched over both of their faces.

Charlotte jumped into his arms first thing and nearly made his knees buckle as he spun her around. He didn’t mind the people who had to jump out of range of their display. Squishing his face, she cooed over him- her baby brother married at last, what a marvel! The world was just full of surprises.

“Don’t you tease me, you old spinster!” he laughed, pinching her cheeks in return.

“Darling, it’s your wedding, someone’s got to humble you.”

She had brought bottles of champagne, multiple, despite his strict instructions, and he was grateful to her for it. He warned her that it would all have to be drunk today, as he set them among the plentifully stuffed table where his guests could take libations. He popped the cork off of one and poured it very steep into a glass (by the shape, one on loan from old Mme Civil who lived downstairs with her young man, and flirted relentlessly with Adam to embarrass him). 

Casually, he lamented, “Adam’s dry most of the year, poor thing. But that _is_ marriage, isn’t it!”

Charlotte took a glass and clinked it to his. “How awful. Someday you’ll have no excesses left, and won’t you be dull then. And when will mummy be here?”

“Oh! What on earth would I invite Margot for, darling?” She had never written him back. Charlotte must have known, because she stroked the back of his wrist for fond reassurance.

“Looking so glum now, what a nuisance. You’re a lucky man, Miles. If our mother can't see how happy you've become, she's simply a rat.”

"I'm not unhappy!" he insisted, waving his champagne hand in an elegant, dismissive arc. "I'm never unhappy! I'm quite too simple for it."

"Miles, dear, all the parties notwithstanding, I wonder if you bright young people were some of the most miserable creatures I’d ever heard of."

"Well thank God I've given up youth and beauty! That must be the true key to happiness, is that what you mean?"

"Exactly." She congratulated his discovery with another toast and they both drank and refilled their glasses.

When Miles felt he had a safe and steady buzz, he kissed Charlotte on the cheek. “Off to find the groom!”

She sent him off with a kiss of her own, and they both had left faint red stains on the other's pale skin.

Adam sat a link in a loose circle, mostly made up of fellow English expatriates. Pausing in the doorway to stare at him, Miles caught his breath in a little gulp. So handsome in his tuxedo, so near to something perfect. Adam was telling some story to his little crowd- the chalky faced Captain who was going to say the words to marry them; a few acquaintances from the old days, reconnected; some sweet boys living in town, kin by their affinities. Miles weaved among them to hear.

“... after Miles got himself expelled, Donoughty inexplicably disappeared in the middle of the semester. Now, if he’d been your typical professor one might expect he’d dropped dead of some common geriatric’s disease, and thought nothing of it. But I and others had our suspicions.”

Smirking, Miles sat himself in Adam’s lap without spilling a drop of champagne. “Oh darling, you mustn’t talk about Teddy, not today. He was _such_ a horrible bore.”

“You didn’t think so at first!” Adam teased. “Donoughty was something like fifteen years our senior, and admittedly very handsome. Everyone envied him when Miles made his preference known—”

Miles clasped a hand over his heart. “Even you, my love?”

Adam took his hand and laced their fingers together. “Oh yes. After you spirited off to France, Simon and I spoke quite crudely about your fascination with older men. I wondered sometimes if I’d seen the last of Miles, when suddenly without writing or any other warning, here he comes, swanning back into London in all new clothes, and tells us not one word about Paris and Donoughty. And we all thought, well, that’s that. Another one of Miles’s adventures that nobody will ever believe if and when he decides to share the details.

“And then!” Adam cried with a snap. “Miles comes to us all one day saying, ‘What a shocking tragedy! My boyfriend wants to visit, and I’ve quite gone and killed you off, Adam!’

“We find out then that two months prior, Miles had the brilliant idea to escape captivity by using me as an excuse. He’d told Donoughty that his dear friend Adam was very ill, knowing that he remembered me and thinking it would justify flying back to England on the next boat without waiting for Donoughty to be ready. Then for the ensuing period he would write to him in Paris reporting how unwell I was and how he simply could not abandon me, growing so feverish in coming up with a convincing story, that by the end of it he had no choice but to declare me dead!”

“He was attentive, I’ll give him that,” Miles added between giggles. “Insisted on joining me in London to give his comfort. I really began to panic when I read that, but what could I do? I couldn’t tell him not to come, and arouse his suspicions.”

“So instead, Miles tried to organize the lot of us to pretend I had really died. It was a good joke for everyone but me, because I missed out on everything. All I know for a fact is that at the end of a few days, Donoughty had left the city with a broken heart and a firm intention never to speak to Miles again. And I asked him in the aftermath why he had gone to the trouble instead of just telling the man he was through. And Miles said…”

Adam’s voice trailed off. His expression slackened. Miles followed his gaze, quite sure already that at the other end would be his viper of a wedding gift.

“It was such the funniest thing,” said Nina in her high, smoky voice. A sleek, pale fur coat over her shoulders and a string of pearls at her wrist revealed that she could not be too bad off after all. Her hands, she held delicately against her stomach, holding her coat shut, to show what little room she took up. “Miles said he’d hardly been sure he wanted to leave at all.”

“Miles.” Adam’s voice was shaking with the effort to control it. Adam had never, ever, ever been violent with him, but that tone was all it took for a sliver of fear to slip into his heart.

He smiled at Nina, a little forcefully. “I was so wonderfully frivolous, wasn’t I?”

“Get off of me, Miles.”

“Adam, now, there’s no need to take that tone,” said Nina. Behind her, standing to about her waist, a pale head wicked with moppy hair poked out enough to see them. Miles was certain that Adam saw.

“God dammit, Miles, stand up now.”

The room had gone very quiet apart from the thin crooning of a record from another room. Miles stood. Scarcely before he was out of the way, Adam had blown past him and stomped from the room. If not for the pin sharp in his heart, Miles would have run after him, but he could not bear to move as it was. He nearly couldn't stand to breathe. The bedroom door slammed shut.

“Poor Adam.” Nina tugged off her gloves with a sigh. “He was always terribly sensitive.”

“Oh indeed.”

Miles had been so delighted all day to be the center of attention, that he forgot what a burden it could be. Even one’s hands couldn’t afford to tremble. If this silly marriage had been to Donoughty or his ilk, he would have burst into tears and thrown himself on the couch and let the guests pet and comfort him. He held his breath for too long as the air failed to fill him. To cry now, there was so little room that his heart would simply drown in it.

“If nobody minds,” Nina continued in the otherwise fatally silent room, “I must corner the bride for a moment.”

Gazes averted, and his English friends gathered themselves up with all politeness out of their chairs and found themselves at the other end of the room. None of them, he realized, would know who she was. They’d need quite the longest memories and for only the silliest things. They looked at her almost as royalty. And among all the party girls, hadn’t she been? Under any other circumstances, if he wasn’t feeling quite so tragic about the state of affairs, he’d be boiling with envy.

“You rather got one over on me in the end, Miles, haven’t you?” Nina teased. She lay a hand gently on his arm. The turn of the earth came to a crawl.

“Oh, not in the end, I think.” He looked away and fidgeted. “Adam’s quite furious you know.”

“Oh yes. I knew he would be if I came.”

“Then why did you come?”

“Well what did you go and invite me for, Miles?” she laughed. “You’re too much.”

He put his hand over hers and squeezed, and he was 17 again, gossiping with Nina in Edward’s club. He could nearly imagine Aggie had just gone a minute ago to fetch drinks. Nina had asked him once when her dearest and most misery-making friends would be conveniently married, and forced him to resolve then and there that no such event nor any variant would ever take place on his watch. Really, he’d hardly thought about marriage for a moment before then. Life had seemed very obvious from that vantage.

“I just thought I’d… I’d get back at him, for all this obsession with marriage.”

Nina’s face drew a little closed. “You don’t want to marry him?”

“What an idea! Of course I want to marry him. Now that I’ve gone to the trouble of saying yes, and organizing it all, I can’t see how I shouldn’t want to marry him. Only I don’t see why the man _must_ be married, when we were so divinely happy without it!”

Miles thought Nina might pity him. Or possibly that look signified resentment. It was so hard with Nina, ever to know. Adam had spoiled him, always, by never really being able to hide anything.

“I’ll go and talk to him.”

“No, no. That won't help.” He caught her hand. She tugged away.

“Miles, dear, I wasn’t asking. I’m _going_ to talk to him.”

Miles was left quite alone at his own party. He shunned Charlotte's eye, avoided speaking to any of the neighbors. He rubbed his arms, suddenly chilled. Adam was having his sulk in their bedroom, so there was certainly no room for Miles to have his. And Nina had followed him in there. And naturally, it being Adam and Nina, he could hardly resist fucking her if she so much made a breath of an overture in that direction. Miles locked himself in the washroom for ten minutes and took very deep breaths.

Nina looked so beautiful. She had been weathered by circumstances in the war, but not terribly and not for long. Not like him. He hunched over the sink to stare at his wrinkles in the mirror, the blasted crow's feet and the lines deepening around his mouth. His skin coarsened, his hair less lively, and in patches preparing to grey.

He wasn't ready. It was too late. It was all already here: Nina and the years and his wedding.

Hiding had not helped. Miles instead took a chance on listening at the bedroom door, and perhaps his fears could be assuaged. A guest wandered over, seeing his ear pressed to the wall, and Miles had to hiss and wave her away.

Nothing passed the door beyond a rolling murmur, nothing ever distinct enough to be made out. Miles chewed his lip anxiously. His fingers fidgeted with the buttons at his cuffs, almost fit to pull them off. A step creaked on the floorboards behind him and, caught, he spun around with a gasp.

The boy was not the spitting image of Adam. Fair skin, dark curls, deep eyes- he took very much after Nina. But he could imagine that the boxy shape of his face, the wide set of his mouth, were from Adam. They certainly looked more like Adam’s than they did Ginger’s, from what watery memories he had of the man. He took a deeper breath, relaxing. He was not particularly worried about the impressions of children.

“Hello Thomas,” he said with cautious optimism. The boy just squinted at him.

“What are you supposed to be, then?”

His voice was sharp and hard. Miles could remember when Nina had been a filed bit of steel just like this little scamp, and he smiled.

“Why, your godmother, darling.”

“You’re a man.”

“How do you suppose that makes a difference?” Thomas squinted harder at him, and Miles relented with an airy laugh. “But you can call me godfather if you’d rather.”

“No thank you.”

“Suit yourself, then! Come to eavesdrop? They’re being very quiet, your parents, I doubt you’ll hear much.”

“Don’t call them ‘my parents,’” Thomas said with a bit of something vicious, “as though he’s got anything to do with it.”

Miles bit his lip, to keep from asking the precocious little bastard exactly whose fault he thought it was, that Adam had nothing to do with them. “I almost suspect you don’t want to be here, Tommy, darling.”

Thomas just glared at him.

“Not enjoying my wedding?”

“Are you?”

Miles’s heart stammered; for a moment he had forgotten the depth of his situation. It crushed him as he sank. The door opened. He nearly fell back into the bedroom, but caught himself and slipped out of the way for Nina. Behind, Adam was sat on the bed with his head low. It appeared at least one of them had some self-control.

“Productive conversation, Nina?” He was a little shocked at how scathing his voice emerged.

Nina smiled, sly and whispery. She held out her hand and Thomas dutifully took it. He stood very tall beside her, like a knight from some old French story Adam might read to him in bed. Like a proper Sir Galahad. He could quite see the resemblance now to the father.

“I’ve told Adam that we’ll be in the country a few more days. I don’t mean to intrude on your honeymoon, but we’ve made plans for luncheon tomorrow. Don’t pout, Tommy, dear.”

“He always preferred you,” Miles blurted. Nina, who had turned to tap her little boy on the nose as she scolded him, looked back to Miles. Oh yes. That look on her face could only be pity.

“You know, I’d like you to be happy.”

Thomas spared a glance back to him as Nina led him down the hall. Not angry anymore, hardly even righteous. Just a sort of deflated, upright confusion. Perhaps a hint of his mother’s pity had been earned. He’d certainly made a pathetic enough display.

Miles couldn’t say how he made it the few steps into the bedroom without crumbling. He counted on the door to carry his weight as he shut it.

The noise gave Adam a start. “Miles,” he said, and scrubbed his face. “I thought- you ought to go and enjoy the party, won’t you?”

“Well. It’s so tedious without you.”

“If it’s all the same, Miles, I think I’d like—”

“Please don’t send me away.” Damn him for the way his voice cracked. Adam stood. At first, he thought, to chase him out of the room, and he pressed himself back shrinking against the door. Adam held out his hand instead, and Miles pulled himself back into Adam’s orbit.

“That was a wretched thing you did.”

“Yes.”

“You should have told me if you wanted her here.”

“I didn’t want her here. I’m quite sick of her.”

Adam didn’t understand. That was the testament to his patience and to his goodness, that he didn’t understand and still reached up a hand to cradle Miles’s face; nobody had ever been loved quite so well at such a dear price.

“Alright. I won’t make you try to explain it.”

He breathed in a little shallowly.

“I’d only just gotten to deserve you.” Miles leaned into the hand cupping his cheek, sighed into the support of it. “And look how quickly I spoiled it.”

“Oh, Miles,” he said in that way he had, so sweet it made the soft place at the back of his jaw ache.

“But I haven’t changed, you see.” He blinked and found that tears had gathered in his eyes, and were spoiling his makeup. The thought only made him cry harder.

Bright horror gathered on Adam’s face, beneath his tender composure. He always looked that way when Miles cried; it was why he so hated to do it in front of him. His thumb swiped at one streak of tears. “That isn’t true, darling, please don’t cry.”

“I don’t—” he swallowed— “I don’t know sometimes, why I do such awful things.”

“That’s alright. That’s alright.”

Adam gathered him up and held him too tight to breathe, and it was exactly what Miles needed. The sickly rocking of the earth finally stilled, and the change in perspective made him realize how unsteady he had been until then. His hands settled on Adam’s shoulders almost as if they were going to dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry I was angry,” Adam whispered back.

Miles tried to speak again, but his voice caught on a sob. Adam squeezed him again. His warmth, solid and gentle, set Miles’s heart abloom. By some miracle, he gathered the strength to lean away and look Adam in the face. “I’ve ruined your wedding.”

“Look, Miles,” Adam pressed a kiss under one eye and then the other, coming away with a grey smudge of watery mascara on his lips, “we won’t get married today.”

Miles shook his head almost with violence. “I want to get married. I want to have married you.”

“Then we can get married another time. I’ve waited this long, haven’t I? A little while longer won’t hurt.”

He undressed Miles with delicacy, unwinding his bow tie, slipping off his jacket and reaching behind him without sight to untie his cummerbund. Miles stood still in surrender. He felt so rather like a doll, the way he felt when he was little and Margot had demanded a plaything to dress. His eyes burned with the crying. Adam stopped telling him not to cry. Beautiful kisses on his cheeks said, ‘alright, Miles. Cry if you’ve got to.’

When he had got Miles down to his trousers, Adam had him sit on the bed while he slipped off his shiny leather opera pumps. He had thought they were so darling and girlish in the catalogue, he’d simply _needed_ them. And now what a waste this whole outfit had been.

“Just what are you denuding me for, Adam?” he finally asked when Adam sat up to undo the buttons on his last bit of security. He sniffled and smiled. “Going to have your way with me while the whole town stands in our kitchen? Naughty thing.”

Adam smiled back, and Miles could appreciate now, where he often struggled to, how blessed he was to have made Adam his life. “Not tonight, Miles. I’ll have to chase them away first.”

Stripped down to almost nothing, Miles crawled under the covers. He pulled them up over his ears, like a child huddling away from winter. So Adam stayed with him a few moments longer, running through his curls and loosening them, loosening the taut line of his shoulders, until the warmth had dried up the reservoir of his tears.

Miles peeked out from under the duvet. “I love you,” he confided.

“I know, darling.”

The ruckus and confusion were audible from the bedroom when Adam went out and asked everyone to please leave. Despite himself, Miles had a good laugh about it. If this wasn’t the very height of drama! The old Miles would be proud. Better, he’d be jealous. He wouldn’t have had the patience to execute such a magnificent disaster.

Sleep had nearly drifted over him when the bed dipped beneath Adam’s weight. He fluttered his eyes at his nearly-husband. Bare like him, so that he could clearly see the sad aching away. They found one another, reaching, somewhere in the middle.

Adam’s knuckles dragged over his spine. He shivered away from the touch. “I missed how you told stories, darling.”

“Next time I’ll tell a better one.”

\-----

It was the edge of summer, a rare sunny day. Simon would not come to attend until fall, trailing after Miles; Adam had no idea of his existence yet. Nina would not enter his life either for nearly another year after that. The park was blessedly quiet and he was blessedly alone. Curled up with his philosophy texts, jacket pillowed under his head, he read the same line five times. His eyelids drooped.

Noise burst into his life with all the color and rush of creation. Miles’s entrance seemed so sudden as Adam might have expected he fell from the sky. Probably he might have heard him and his friends a long way off if he hadn’t been so drowsy. Where he lay, he would have sworn that in one moment the park was all tranquility and in the next, Miles Maitland had nearly tumbled over his outstretched legs.

“Oh, Lord!” cried a young man’s voice, a silken baritone. Adam had jerked himself nearly into a ball at the first collision of skin, and took a moment to sit up and untangle himself. “I hadn’t seen you there!”

He whipped off a pair of sunglasses, excessive but stylish, and bit nervously on the tortoiseshell arm. Adam blinked. It was a lot to take in. Earrings, eyeshadow, overcoat simply draped over his shoulders so that the fur trim, daringly feminine, could frame his delicate jaw. His outfit was dominated by tasteful, dusty pink. And didn’t he look quite familiar. Everyone at least knew of Miles, though who in hell knew what he was doing at Oxford.

“Sorry,” Adam said at last, glancing between Miles and the other couple of boys he was with. These two he didn’t recognize; they looked older. “I hadn’t thought I’d be in the way of anybody.”

As though Adam hadn’t even spoken, Miles finally took the end of his glasses out from between his teeth and gestured certainly with them, declaring, “I must know you.”

Adam was struck. Somehow, despite speaking plainly, it was hard to tell what exactly he meant. If perhaps he must _know_ him- must recognize him from the university, in passing and at distances. Or if he _must_ know Adam, as a statement of intent. Must _get_ to know him. Whether it was the bewilderment of being dragged up out of a haze of philosophy, and had he been awake and reading at all or had he drifted into dreams where language games redoubled their complexity, but he was sure somehow that Miles meant it both ways.

Overwhelmed at the attention, Adam managed, “Oh.”

But Miles had already made one of his boys take his jacket off, and he set it on the ground beside Adam for himself to sit on. “Well, sit down, you two,” he scolded when the others just stood and watched, bewildered and irritated. He turned to Adam, and his eyes flashed. “I’m Miles, by the by.”

“Yes, I know.” That was the right thing to say, or maybe the wrong thing? It made Miles preen.

“Charming, then we won’t need introductions. I feel as if we’re already bosom companions. Now and then one _does_ meet people like that, and one thinks, surely this is a soul I have known for years. But actually, you’ve only just begun to speak. I think it’s divine.”

Adam did not feel as if he had known Miles for years and he wasn’t quite sure how seriously to take Miles’s insistence that he did, given how very, very silly he was. One of Miles’s friends joined them on the ground, with a skeptical furrow of the brow. He and Miles exchanged a brief, wordless conversation in expressions, and Miles, possessing the more evocative face, won.

At a loss, only able to convey himself in words, Adam said, “I was just reading.”

Miles’s attention was back to him in an instant. He grabbed for the top book on the pile and shuffled through them. “Yes, I see you’ve got quite a stack of these. Oh! I do recognize some of them. I’m so naughty, I never open our class books except under complete duress.”

Was it uncharitable of Adam to believe it? He was striking out for something else to say when Miles unearthed a book from the bottom of the stack and with a clap, squealed, “Poetry! Marvelous, perhaps you’re not a lost cause after all!”

“I brought that just to— lost cause?”

“I can tell, you must have excellent taste, though you do look so sad and… scholarly. You ought to recite us something, darling. You have a lovely voice.”

One of the boys groaned, the one whose jacket had been taken and who now refused to sit down. “Come on, Miles. We’re going to be late.”

“Don’t whine, David. What do I care about being late for one of Margot’s little lunches? She’s such a bore, I ought to miss it entirely.”

“Margot?”

Miles flapped a hand- the same one holding his sunglasses. “Oh, nobody. My mother. Would you like to come with? And you can recite for us there. I’m very determined to hear you.”

He laughed. He simply couldn’t help it. This was all too much, and all at once. Miles was too much. He expected Miles to be insulted, to feel his whimsy had been stamped upon and storm away. Instead, he bit his tongue and grinned. “If I may say, you’re a queer one, Miles.”

“You have no idea.”

Adam held open a hand; Miles took it. “I’m Adam.”

\-----

It was a better day. Not perfect, and Miles for his part had talked himself down from expecting perfection— but it was better.

Miles set down a cup of tea and a plate of toast smeared with jam and clotted cream on the desk beside Adam’s typewriter. He failed to acknowledge it. Miles threw open the curtains and let sunlight spill across the room. Still nothing. Pouting now, Miles leaned over Adam’s shoulders, wrapped his arms around him, and bit him on the ear.

Adam broke out in laughter. “For God’s sake!”

“He lives!” Miles cried, easing up.

“Don’t be a brat, Miles. I told you I was writing today, I jolly well am going to write.”

“But you’ve been writing all morning! You haven’t had anything to eat, and—”

“And I’d got out of bed before you woke up, isn’t that what you mean?”

Miles had nothing smart to rejoin and settled just for pouting. Seeming to feel it, Adam laughed again, and paused his typing.

“I’ll finish this chapter and we’ll eat. Does that sound fair?”

Miles sniffed. “As much as I can expect, I suppose.”

As shaming as it was to be ignored, Adam’s look of concentration as he stared down his memoirs, was beautiful in the golden daylight. His fingers clacked away at the keys, glancing back and forth between his notebook and the page in front of him. Miles had never been able to read that noisome handwriting. He was forced to read each word as Adam formed it, letting his darling's mind slowly unfold to him. A cheeky sort of look gathered up on Adam's face as his fingers painted Oxford as it had been in the old days.

_I was suddenly entangled in the closest friendship with the principal character of all our lives, in the Hon. Miles Maitland. This was a shocking development for anyone of the boys he pulled into his circle, but most especially to me. What appeal could I have, gangly and money-poor and disconnected as I was? According to general accounts he was the most stylish, the most wealthy, the most delicate, the most lively on the scene, in every scene. Certainly the most crucial to please if you had any interest in good parties. He'd flounce up to you with the boyish elegance to shame Ganymede and earn your love in an instant, declaring,_

Miles laughed, leaning his weight in harder on Adam's shoulders. "You naughty old queer, now nobody will ever publish this."

"Oh, I don't know." Adam turned to let Miles plant him one square on the mouth. "It's not such a bad story; I think someday they must."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus concludes my first series! If you liked this, I guess check me out on tumblr at withswords.tumblr.com and if you want me to write more stuff, go there and like yell at me to stop posting so much and start writing more. Thanks again!


End file.
